Magelight
by thepaintedelf
Summary: Helena Surana hates Denerim, and she particularly hates exploring its seedy alleyways at night, looking for mysterious contacts. Zevran has an idea to cheer her up. Fluffy one-shot. Image by the incredible thereinafter-art. I own nothing but the order of the words, and Helena.


It was raining - again - and Helena was thoroughly fed up of Denerim. The city seemed cramped and seedy, buildings rising higgledy-piggledy into the sky and casting eerie shadows into the twilight. They'd been here for about a week now, lodging in a crappy inn where the spiders had more comfortable beds than travellers, and both the baths and the beer were lukewarm.

The city made Helena twitchy. While she knew she and Zevran were more than a match for any opportunistic idiots out for a mugging, she didn't like the feeling of eyes on her back. All the streets seemed too small, all the buildings too close. It wasn't like there'd been much privacy in the Circle, or even on the road, sleeping in thin tents, but Denerim was different, somehow. Almost creepy. No one in this part of the city had any fewer than three ulterior motives, and the presence of the Warden and her companions wasn't exactly welcome. Add to that the fact that it had not stopped pissing with rain since they got into town, and the result was one very grumpy mage.

Zevran hefted the bag he was carrying a little higher on his shoulder.

"You know, sometimes I wish these shady society types would ask for _light_ packages. The mysterious object is never a nice cushion. Or some feathers." He rubbed his neck as if that would stave off the ache. "Why do we even help these idiots?"

"Money, Zev, cold shiny money. You need new boots and I need some dinner." Apparently, it was expensive building an army. Who'd have thought?

"New boots? My friend, these are the finest Antivan leather, genuine masterpieces! I bought these boots five years ago after a particularly successful missi-"

"And now they have holes in."

"Well, yes... But I-"

"Fine. Keep your holey boots. I don't care. But we do need to eat, and we need supplies, so please, shut up and keep walking!"

Zevran suppressed a grin at that. Helena was always difficult when she was cold.

"My up is shut, and my holey boots are walking." Hefting the bag again, he took a quick glance around, smiled, and directed Helena down a grubby-looking street to their right. "This way, then."

In the narrower streets, they were slightly more protected from the rain, and Helena's mood began to improve. She stopped thinking about the job, and started daydreaming about the hot bath she'd have when all this Blight stuff was over, keeping half an eye on Zevran as he picked his way over uneven cobbles and down a series of increasingly tiny alleyways. He was in his element in the city, particularly after dark, and although it was only evening, the closeness of the buildings made it a lot darker than it should be.

"If I could trouble you for some light, my dear?" purred Zevran, after he stumbled for the second time. "I'd quite like to see my feet again."

Of course, she hadn't thought. While it seemed natural to use magic to defend herself, the Circle's rules about the use of magic in everyday tasks were harder to shake. She murmured a spell, and a small sphere of green light appeared in her palm. She raised her hand, and the light grew brighter, illuminating their surroundings. Zevran gave a small noise of approval, and ducked down another side street.

"Aha, I think this is the place!" crowed Zevran, dropping the bag to the floor with an ominous clunk. Helena looked around, but couldn't see any obvious doorways, or anyone waiting for a mysterious parcel. It was just your bog-standard dark, shadowy dead end.

"Here? You're sure?" Was this a trap? For all his training, had Zevran failed to notice a waiting assassin? On edge, she scanned the alleyway with keen eyes, grateful for the magelight in her hand. Nothing seemed worrying - well, no more than usual, anyway. More likely, Zev was holding the map upside down.

"Yes, my dear Warden, I am sure."

Helena saw a grin spread across her companion's face. It really was irritating, sometimes, how at ease Zevran was in the face of danger. And in fact, how cheerful he could be in the face of drizzle, and cold air, and grime.

"Come on, then," she said, with a sigh. "Let's dump the goods and get out of here. Even the inn's better than this."

That drew a chuckle from Zevran, and he took a step away from the bag to lounge against the wall. Helena tried not to think about the state his shirt would get into.

"We'll get it done in time," he said. "But first, I have another task I should complete."

Before Helena could frame the words to tell him how obnoxious he was being, Zevran surged forward and took her lips in a kiss that startled the breath from her. One of his arms snaked around her waist, while the other came up to cup her cheek. She felt herself respond instantly, a trail of fire shooting down her body, and as Zevran tilted her chin up to deepen the kiss, she heard herself give a small moan.

His lips tasted like honey, which she wasn't expecting. She hadn't had anything sweet to eat since they hit the road - it wasn't like they had spare cash for pastries, and Alistair's cooking ran to the mundane, stew-and-whatever, be-glad-it's-there side of cuisine. But what she tasted on Zevran's tongue was as sweet as any cake, and she couldn't keep the smile from her face. She felt an answering smile creep across his lips, and he broke the kiss, resting his forehead on hers. The cat that got the cream, Helena thought. Zevran looked exceedingly pleased with himself.

"Ah, mi amora," he purred, "I thought that would cheer you up." With a much slower motion this time, he captured her mouth again and hummed with pleasure. The space between their bodies closed, and she felt the heat from his chest even through her cloak. Every movement set her skin singing, their damp, grimy surroundings forgotten. She wound her fingers into his hair, but his hand caught her left wrist and moved it back above them, so that the magelight she carried lit up their faces.

"It's more fun if I can see you blushing," he laughed. "See? There you go again. What a naughty Warden you are, kissing assassins in the rain."

Half-amused, half-irritated, she nipped at his lower lip, not hard, but enough to draw a gasp. Zevran moaned against her, held her tighter, fingers gripping her waist and crushing her to him. The feel of his desperate mouth on hers was electric. She'd been buzzed by more than a few lightning spells while studying, but this was something altogether more exciting and different. Her lips tingled and her only thoughts were _more_, _more_...

Zevran, on the other hand, appeared to be thinking about more practical matters. The kiss slowed, and with one final taste of her lips, he released her from his arms and lifted the heavy pack back onto his shoulder.

"To business, my dear Warden? This parcel will not deliver itself."

Helena growled. "Stuff the parcel," she said, and grabbed his collar to pull him down into another kiss. The sound of Zevran's rich laughter echoed out into the alleyway, and without any delay, he happily drew his Warden back into his arms.


End file.
